


the subtle art of not giving a fuck

by awkwardsorta



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Jealousy, Lack of Communication, Late Night Texting, M/M, Pining, Posh Boys, adam milne as a canon plot device, blurred lines between friendships and relationships, jade is surrey's big brother, the english summer, this whole fic is based on their instagrams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardsorta/pseuds/awkwardsorta
Summary: They’ll meet the others later, they say, but the coffee shop Sam finds is quiet and bright, with big wooden tables and high ceilings, and when the barista says, “To drink in?” Sam looks inquiringly at Jason and Jason shrugs, yeah, why not. He’s just spotted a dog padding its way around the room and he wants to pet it.Sexuality is confusing even for posh boys.





	the subtle art of not giving a fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lordsanga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordsanga/gifts).



> This is for my FAVOURITE the amazing beautiful generous babs that is my Megby. Thank you for spending the last year plotting this romance in intricate detail with me, this one's all for you. I love you please keep talking about cricket boyfriends with me forever.

**the subtle art of not giving a fuck**

 

 

The team goes out to Spain for a training camp, three days in the warmth of the continent with ‘team bonding’ top of the agenda. They’re divvied out between four villas, no house left without someone to keep the peace, except Jason’s wondering if in his house it’s supposed to be him, and if so, what the rules are on letting your teammate stay after everyone else has gone to bed, hustling him with whispers and cut-off giggling into your room. 

It’s so late by the time they’re done, lying sweaty and satiated beside each other, that it seems childish to leave, sneaking in after dark and out before the sun rises. Anyway, Sam says he’s too tired to move, and goes to sleep under Jason’s covers like he has a right to be there. It feels like he does, too. It’s always this way, in another country where the air feels different around them and the distance from their home selves gives them a sense of freedom.

They’re rudely awoken the next morning by laughter and loud voices, a door banging open and a face too close to Jason’s when he opens his eyes. He hits out and someone cackles. His teammates hold up their phones and Jason hates them. When he picks up a pillow, ready to fight, they hustle out of the room again, their broad, boisterous frames getting stuck in the doorway for a moment before they spill out as one into the hallway. Alex leans back in and makes a cartoonish face at Jason before, oddly considerate, he closes the door behind him.

The room is quiet again and then there’s a low groan beside him. Sam’s stuck his head underneath a pillow, and now he pulls it out and looks at Jason, blinking, his hair sticking every which way. “Our friends are idiots,” he says, and drops back to the pillow, eyes closed.

There’s a clear space between them on the bed, and Jason doesn’t reach across it. He lies on his back, arms around his waist, and stares at the ceiling. After a few minutes Sam rouses himself. Jason feels his glance, but only looks over when Sam asks if he’s alright. “Fine,” he says, and then turns away, looking for his phone on the nightstand. “They’re just winding you up,” Sam says, but that’s nothing Jason doesn’t know, and he shrugs in response. 

It doesn’t take long for his silence to push Sam out, and he leaves by the french windows in Jason’s room, bypassing the kitchen where their teammates wait to continue the gleeful onslaught. Jason can’t make the same kind of escape and ends up with Alex in a headlock, Alex yelling about anger management classes. He steals Alex’s juice too, so he feels like some pride is regained.

 

Jason doesn’t invite Sam over the night after that, and Sam doesn’t say anything about it. It’s not out of the ordinary for them; it’s an easy way to get sex on tour but it doesn’t mean they have to do it constantly. Around eleven on their last night, there’s a knock on Jason’s door. It swings open slightly and Alex is standing there, his hand still raised. His eyebrows are twisted in concern. “Alright?” he says, and then, “Still up?”

Jason shrugs his shoulders against the pillows. The bedside light is on and he has a book open against his bent knees. Alex moves into the room a few inches, looking around with his hands in his pockets; the blinds are open and the doors too, the night breeze is coming in with the sound of crickets.

Jason waits a minute and then asks, “Did you want something?”

Alex folds his arms, hugging his body. He bites his lip. “Nah,” he says. “Not really. You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Jason frowns. “Are you?”

“Hm?” Alex turns to him, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah. Apart from--” 

Alex relates something back to him about how annoying Jake was being and the misfortunes of having to share breathing space with him, and Jason is only half-tuned in, glancing at his phone as it lights up next to him, keeping his place in his book. 

“Hey,” Alex says, calling Jason back to his attention. “You know --” his eyes skate away from Jason’s to the wall next to the bed. “We’re only taking the piss about Bilbo, right?” 

“What?” Jason says, reflexively. 

“Like, it’s cool if he comes over. We’re just taking the mick for -- it’s not because -- it’s Sam, he can come over whenever he wants.”

“What are you on about?” Jason asks, and, “If you want Sam over that much just text him.” 

“I’d swap him for your ugly face,” Alex shoots back, but he straightens up, his face relaxing. 

There’s a pause, both boys silent, the blinds clattering softly against the mosquito netting, and then Jason says, “Is that all?”

Alex snorts and pushes his way out of the room. “Yeah,” he says, “Good. Goodnight.”

Jason tells him goodnight and the door clicks closed. He turns to his right and the phone lying in the space beside him. There’s three messages from friends back home, but he clicks through to the conversation with Sam. The last message is still from yesterday. Jason stares at it till the screen goes black, and then unlocks his phone again. He sends three middle fingers emojis to Sam, and waits. A minute later he gets three laughing faces back, and, _go to sleep_. 

 

It should be different, when they’re back in England. They should go back to friends and teammates: Fifa sessions with the boys and late night movie club, coffee snobbery and dressing room tea rotas, moving from city to city, the hotel rooms all the same but the streets outside solidly, inescapably _home_.

A few of them take a morning stroll in Leeds, the day of the match. Steve’s forgotten to bring socks and needs an emergency shopping trip, and the others just trail after him for an excuse to get out of the hotel. Jason’s dragging his feet, complaining that other people have coffee and didn’t ask if he wanted any, until Sam rolls his eyes and hooks an arm around his neck. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s find you some caffeine, grumpy man.”

They’ll meet the others later, they say, but the coffee shop Sam finds is quiet and bright, with big wooden tables and high ceilings, and when the barista says, “To drink in?” Sam looks inquiringly at Jason and Jason shrugs, yeah, why not. He’s just spotted a dog padding its way around the room and he wants to pet it.

They stay a while, talking about the upcoming series, making fun of their teammates in their absence, trying to making friends with the dog, and when they’re done it makes more sense to just head back to the hotel. Later, in the dressing room as they celebrate the win, chests puffed out and feeling good about themselves, someone brings it up. Jason isn’t in the mood. It isn’t just his solo run, or the sinking feeling that he’s out of form, it’s the constancy of it. Like he and Sam can’t do anything without running commentary from their teammates. 

“What was noted,” he snaps, trying to sound dismissive. “That we got coffee?”

“We’ll meet you boys later,” someone parodies, and it gets a laugh. Down the room, Sam smiles easily. “The coffee place we found was too nice,” he says, “Didn’t want to ruin it with you plebs.” There’s a chorus of sarcastic hoots and jeers and Sam ducks a balled-up shirt. “Didn’t want to bring the tone down,” he continues, and laughs at the mock outrage as the conversation descends into mayhem.

 

They win in Southampton, the Durham boys swinging on the south coast; Mark is jubilant after the game and the dressing room is bouncing. Sam seeks Jason out across the room. He sees him coming, picking his way through piles of discarded kit, and thinks about escaping, but in the end he just waits until Sam is standing over him. 

“You ok?”

Jason shrugs. “Just not wild about celebrating,” he mutters, under the din of Mo and Mark singing a barmy army tune. 

“Want to get away from the boys for a bit?”

Sam takes them outside, away to the edge of the practice pitch. Their shoulders touch and Jason watches Sam lift his bottle to his lips, his profile soft in the low light. It’s quiet, and he feels no need to talk. Their teammates will make jokes about where they’ve gone, but he can’t be bothered with it; they’ll get bored eventually and meanwhile he still can’t make double figures, so it doesn’t really matter.

It’s easier as an absent thought than a reality. When the floodlights around the nets get switched off, and Jason takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. We should go in,” he enjoys the arm Sam puts around around his shoulders, pulling him in, tight, but not the hooting that greets them in the dressing room. Sam deflects again, laughing and rolling his eyes, his voice carrying over the lot of them. 

At the hotel he lingers, as his teammates talk and bicker and make plans for the next day, but in the end he can’t wait long enough to find himself alone with Sam, and so he goes along with them, joining Alex and Jos and Eoin in a lift. Eoin gives them his customary words of encouragement, singling no one out, and claps Jason’s shoulder as he says goodnight. 

He mooches around his room, putting things away, half-heartedly packing, putting his phone on to charge, but he can’t settle. After he opens instagram for the third time to no updates, and starts skimming through recommended posts, he gives in.

_Can’t sleep. You up?_

Sam comes round, of course, because he always does. Jason’s got the TV on low, some late night rubbish on ITV4 that Sam mocks him for. Jason grabs bottles of water from the fridge and throws one on Sam’s stomach, as he lies on the bed and steals Jason’s pillows. They tussle, but Jason ends up sharing them, his head almost resting on Sam’s shoulder. They watch in silence for a minute, and then Sam looks at him, amused.

Jason glances up at him. “What?”

“This is a cute booty call,” Sam says. “Very domestic.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Maybe I thought we could just hang out,” he says, and takes a drink.

Sam reaches up his hand to pat Jason’s cheek. “Such a grumpy bugger,” he says, giggling when Jason pushes him off. “Should have told me this was a cuddle booty call.”

“If you’re going to be a dick about it,” Jason scowls, but he doesn’t put a lot of bite into it. He’s going red and he knows it, ducking his head and distracting himself with the bottle.

“Next thing you’ll be wanting hug quickies,” Sam says. “I’ll hug you and you’ll be like ooh, Sam, yes.”

Jason cracks, grinning, shoving Sam with both hands on him, laughing through his embarrassment as Sam takes his wrists and tries to hold him off. “You’re such an idiot,” he scoffs, and Sam just laughs his easy laugh and settles back down. His arm rests heavy and warm against Jason’s, and Jason fights the urge to reach for his hand. He’s just keyed up, he tells himself, worried about his form and looking for comfort, but he’s not a kid anymore and doesn’t need his hand held.

“At least change the channel though,” Sam says, and Jason does.

 

After they lose the third match, no one feels much like going wild. The series is won but they celebrated already, and the nerves are already alive for the Champions Trophy. Most of them go home, but Jason has friends out in the City and they abuse him over text until he agrees to join them. He says his goodbyes to the team, promising to see them bright and early for a day of press, and reconvenes in a cocktail bar somewhere near St Paul’s. 

The night is not that old when he starts to feel adrift. Someone brings him another drink and suddenly he doesn’t have the energy to dance. He slopes off to the side and pulls out his phone. Ignoring all the notifications he skips straight to Sam’s name and brings up their conversation. 

_Thought it would be a good idea_ , he writes, _going out with the boys, but i just want you around._

He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply, and when it comes he weaves his way across the dancefloor and back to their empty seats. He absently picks up an abandoned bottle of tequila and pours himself a shot. 

_Sounds like someone’s had enough already._

Jason holds up the glass and sends a picture to Sam. _Not that drunk yet,_ he writes, and sends another picture with the glass empty. _You should be here to drink these for me._

_You have press tomorrow,_ Sam replies. 

Jason stays there, texting Sam, nursing another shot of tequila, losing track of time. Sam’s responsive, ticking him off for being out on a school night, telling him to drink water, teasing him for being drunk. Jason’s throwing out accusations that Sam’s mean because he loves him, and saying, _Yes mum_.

There’s no reply. Jason’s friends return, messing up his hair fondly and stealing the tequila back, asking where he disappeared to and cuffing him affectionately. Jason shakes them all off, trying to focus on his phone, willing Sam to come back. When he does, it’s with Sam’s favourite emoji and, _that’s not a good sign_. 

_Maybe it is,_ Jason shoots off instantly. _Maybe I should ditch these clowns and come to yours instead._

Sam tells him to go home, and Jason feels deflated. He tells the boys he has to earn a living, and that he’s out, and he calls an uber. Throwing insults over his shoulder he makes his way through the bar and out into the cool night air. The music is muffled as the door closes behind him, and he takes a moment to look up at the narrow street, the old stone buildings rising above him. Then his phone rings, and he looks down at the bright square, and Sam’s name.

“You went quiet,” Sam says, “Thought I’d better call, see if you’re alive.”

Jason grins, walking down towards the main road. “You love me,” he says, and steps off the curb. 

“I do love you mate, that’s why I want you to get home in one piece.” Sam sounds amused, which is good. He could sound disapproving, or disappointed, and Jason hates it when Sam sounds like that. Sam looks after him all the time, even when Jason’s fine, and he hates it when he doesn’t deserve that. 

“Can’t believe you called me at two a.m. to check up on me,” he says, teasing, as he waves to the taxi. “You know, if you were a girl I would have locked this shit down by now.”

There’s a pause while Jason gets in the car and tells the guy where to go, buckling his seatbelt and settling back against the leather. 

Sam says, quieter now, “You’re really against dating men, aren’t you.”

“Against it?” Jason frowns. “No, I don’t have a problem with it. You know I don’t. It’s just not my thing.”

“Hm,” Sam says, and he’s quiet again. Jason watches London blur by in an orange glow of streetlights and headlamps, and wonders if he’s gone wrong. “What are you thinking about?” he asks Sam, and wishes again that Sam was with him, that they were talking face to face.

“It’s just funny,” Sam says, lightly. “If you dated men, _I’d_ have locked this shit down by now. Strange how things work out, isn’t it?”

Jason feels queasy, and focuses on the road ahead. He did drink too much, adrenaline and alcohol don’t mix well on an empty post-match stomach and he’s made himself ill. Water, he thinks. Home, water, bed. 

“Jase?”

Jason shakes his head. “Is that right?” he says. 

“Jase, you going home?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, leaning his head against the window. “In the taxi. I’ll drink water.”

“Want me to stay on till you get home?” 

Jason should tell him it’s late, and that he’ll let him go. But Sam waits, and when Jason doesn’t say no, he carries on. “I’m in bed, anyway. Got home, all these good intentions of unpacking but I saw my bed - and my mum’s been in, bless her, and changed the sheets, left me milk and stuff in the fridge too - so I just face-planted onto the bed and pretty much been here ever since.”

Jason’s smile grows through the story and he laughs softly at the end. “Mummy’s boy,” he says, and Sam keeps talking.

 

Eoin tells him the night before the semi-final that he’s off the team. He means well when he talks to Jason about taking a break, giving himself some space before the South Africa series, but Jason doesn’t want to hear it. He stares at his lap, rubbing his fingers back and forth across the badge on his tracksuit bottoms, nods in all the right places and mumbles agreement from time to time, and when Eoin’s done he briefly meets his eyes and says thank you. Eoin looks sorry, and Jason looks away.

The boys are playing FIFA in Steve’s room, Alex and Sam on the controls, their faces lit blue by the big screen. Jason puts his head in, but doesn’t get further than standing in the doorway. He sees Sam look over, and then Jos says, “In or out, Roy,” and Jason pulls back, closing the door between them.

Sam texts him later, but Jason puts the phone aside. He watches half a film on his laptop, thinks about texting his mum to tell her he’s been dropped, decides against it, makes a decaf coffee and forgets it till it’s lukewarm. He doesn’t pick up his phone again till past midnight, and sends Sam a brief reply. 

He’s not expecting a response, but his phone buzzes seconds later anyway. _Can’t sleep?_

_Trying,_ Jason replies. _No one to help out though ;)_

_Right hand not working?_

Jason snorts to himself. _Don’t be crass Bilbo._

Sam comes back quickly. _You were fine with it before I came along, you’ll be fine with it when I’m gone too_.

I didn’t even ask, Jason thinks. I just made a joke, I wasn’t asking. He says, _Gone?_

_Not planning on spending the rest of my life as your sex buddy_ , Sam replies, and the little faces crying with laughter do nothing for the jolt in Jason’s stomach. 

_Leaving me hanging?_

_Time for a new booty call._

_You serious?_

_What did you think?_

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that, and he doesn’t know how they got here, in this conversation. He stares at the screen until Sam starts typing again. The three dots move back and forth, and then, _I don’t see this lasting._

Fuck you, Jason wants to write, the wretchedness rising through him. Funny, he thinks. Getting dropped like buses, or something. He’s too tired to remember how that analogy works. He laughs out loud into his hotel room, and says, “Okay.”

_You really know how to charm a guy,_ he writes, and Sam’s quick back. _Like you said, I should be locked down right?_

_I’m sure you have a line of guys waiting to do so._

_Haha, yeah a whole waiting list._

Jason puts his phone aside, his eyes hurting from the glare, tension tightening the muscles across his forehead. It’s one a.m., and he has nothing to be awake for, no pre-match nerves to blame. He should sleep, he thinks. He turns his phone over and the room goes dark.

He wakes up with his alarm, groggy and disoriented. He showers, gets dressed, and grabs his phone to head downstairs. There’s one last message, just a goodnight, sent ten minutes after Sam’s last message; Jason reads it and taps out of the conversation. He doesn’t see Sam till the bus, and he looks tired too. Jason feels guilty in the pit of his stomach. He smiles at Sam, but Sam just looks away. Steve’s opposite, teasing, needling at him about losing at FIFA the night before, but when Jason tries to step in Sam doesn’t react.

Trevor doesn’t read out his name in the batting order, and then Sam looks at him. He touches Jason’s arm as they file out of the changing room, and says, softly, “Did they tell you last night?”

Jason shrugs. “Knew it was coming though didn’t I?” 

Sam’s eyes are pitying. “Sorry,” he says. “I wouldn’t have -- I didn’t know.”

“Sorry for keeping you up,” Jason says, cutting him off. Someone claps him on the shoulder as they walk past. It’s Liam, and Jason nods at him, turning away from Sam. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says. “Jase…”

“Forget it,” Jason says quietly. He doesn’t want people feeling sorry for him. 

 

He is selected for the T20s. The part of him deep inside that hoped he still would, that believed he still would, in truth, feels justified and guilty for the presumption in equal measure. He spends a week going hard in the nets, and then they’re back in Southampton. Jason scores middling, decent and poor through the series; it’s better than the three and twelve Sam manages, but in between trying and training and focusing, forcing the effort out of himself, Jason doesn’t find a lot of time to comfort him. On the surface, nothing has changed, but they don’t find their way to each other’s rooms, much less their beds, and they don’t speak about it either.

Jason goes home just long enough to switch England kit for Surrey, and then they’re off to Leeds. He puts on his whites and walks out to stand opposite Rory under the soft grey clouds of summer rain, and makes 87 before the ball thumps into his left pad and the umpire raises his finger. Rory joins him on the balcony half an hour later, and together they watch Kumar make another graceful century. He feels frustration at not reaching his own, but there’s comfort, too, in the quiet and the white figures batting out the evening as the sun goes down.

County cricket plods on, through rain showers and rain delays, and Jason settles back into his days, going from home to the Oval and back again, his home to his second home and back again. He takes a break from keeping up with the England boys, leaving whatsapps unread and not thinking about the autumn. 

Sam texts him a few times, just references to inside jokes and comments on other sporting occasions. Jason replies, for the sake of their friendship, but he still feels off. He doesn’t want to name it as embarrassment, the feeling of being cast aside. He’d rather call it being pissed off, when he opens up instagram and sees Sam and Adam Milne back and forth. Coffee dates and FIFA dates and car rides together. He recognises the signs. They don’t have to talk about it for Jason to know he’s been made a fool of.

Kent come to the Oval in July, a Friday night and the place is packed with city boys and girls letting loose from the week at work. Jason sees Sam in the warm-ups and waves to him, but there’s no time to talk till afterwards. It’s Kent who gets the jubilance of the win, and the boys invite them into the home changing room for a drink. Sam’s monopolised by Rory, of course. Jason watches them for a minute, zoned out of whatever Tom’s telling Jade, and then takes his beer out into the stands. Jade clocks him leaving, and Jason knows he’ll make fun of him later for going to what Jade calls his sad place.

He doesn’t notice Sam till he’s standing at the end of the row. He looks at Jason, and then raises his bottle. “Room for one more?” he asks, his voice unnaturally loud in the empty ground. Jason shrugs, and then says yes.

They drink in silence for a few minutes, and then Jason says, “Good game,” and tilts his bottle to Sam. They cheers, and Sam says, “No thanks to me,” and starts laughing. 

Jason grins. “Pull your weight, Sam,” he says. 

“You had a good knock,” Sam says, and Jason shrugs. “Did you want to be alone?”

“No,” Jason says, quickly, and then, “As long as no one comes looking for you.”

“I left Rory with the promise of golf soon,” Sam says. “Your presence is required.” He nudges Jason with his elbow, getting a good dig into his side, and Jason jerks away. 

“Stop,” he mutters. He can feel Sam looking at him, waiting for an answer. “What about Adam?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light and casual.

“I could ask him?” Sam sounds confused. Jason looks at him, to check if it’s genuine. “It’s up to you,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You’re the one sleeping with him.”

Sam laughs, but it’s not his usual, happy laugh. He looks away, shaking his head. “Oh, right.”

Jason keeps watching him. He feels bitterly satisfied at being right. “Were you going to tell me?”

Sam bites his lip, looking across the ground. Then he looks back. “I don’t know,” he says. “If it came up. If you asked? When was the last time you told me anything about your love life?”

“My love life?” Jason smiles. “Oh, it’s love life, is it? And here I was thinking you were just fucking him.”

“It’s not,” Sam sighs. “We just don’t usually talk about this stuff, alright? I wasn’t trying to hide anything.”

“But we’re sleeping together too,” Jason says, looking away, “So it is kind of weird for you to be sleeping with someone else, and not tell me.”

There’s a pause, before Sam replies, cautiously. “But, I thought we’re not sleeping together anymore.”

Jason can’t help a quick glance above them, a scan of the seats to check they’re still alone. “Right,” he says, lightly. “Our fuckbuddy break up. I didn’t know it’s because you’d found an upgrade.” Sam starts speaking but Jason carries on, that bitter feeling pushing his words out. “It would have been nice not to be lied to.”

“God, Jase.” Sam sighs. “No, you don’t get to do that.” Jason frowns and opens his mouth, but now Sam carries on. “We stopped because the series stopped, and nothing happened with Adam until after that. Don’t be a dick just because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous?” Jason gives a little laugh. “I just don’t get why you kept it from me?”

“Do you want to know about the other men I’ve slept with, before Adam? Earlier this year? Last year?” Sam shakes his head again, pressing his lips shut. “God, I don’t want to argue with you. But you never cared before.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say. Sam’s right, of course he is, and Jason can’t explain why he cares now. Because Sam ended it, even though there was nothing to end. Because he replaced him. “Forget it,” he says. 

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t come out here to argue.” He pokes Jason’s foot with his toe. “Look, I’d tell you about it if I thought you were interested.”

“I am interested,” Jason insists. He leans back in the plastic seat and crosses his arms, looking at Sam.

Sam ducks his head in acknowledgement. “Alright,” he says. “Well. It’s nothing. He’s a good laugh, he’s fit, and we both know it’s just a bit of fun this summer. It’s not going anywhere.”

Jason relaxes his arms a little. “Okay,” he says, stiffly. “Thanks.” 

They’re both quiet, and when Jason looks up Sam is looking at him, an odd expression on his face. It’s soft, though that may just be the tiredness kicking in. “What?” Jason asks, and Sam says, “Nothing. Do you want to go back in?”

Jason feels deflated, and thinks of the changing room, loud and crowded and boisterous, and then his bed, and having another drink alone. He feels sorry for himself, which feels good, so he tells Sam, “No, I’m going to head off.”

Sam looks disappointed, and then frustrated. “Jason,” he says, but then seems to give up, and leads the way out of the row. They slip back in, unnoticed in the melee, and Jason packs his kit. He can’t see Sam when he makes his goodbyes, but he thinks he’ll just text him later. Then he steps out into the corridor, and Sam’s there, sitting on his upended kitbag and looking down at his phone.

“Hi,” Jason says. “I was just -- I couldn’t see you in there.”

Sam looks up, then takes a second to finish on his phone, and puts it away. “Yeah, I was going to call it a night too.” 

They walk out together, down the staircase, nodding a goodnight to the few staff still around. They walk in silence around the ground to the carpark, and then Jason says, as they walk past the Kent bus, “Did you drive here?” 

Sam laughs. “No,” he says.

“So how are you getting home?” Jason says, and Sam stops walking. 

“I don’t know,” he says. He looks at Jason, and he doesn’t think Sam’s talking about the same thing anymore when he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Jason asks, before he’s had time to think it through.

“I don’t--” Sam stops. 

“We never have time together,” Jason says, like it’s a reasonable argument, like the plaintive way it comes out doesn’t give him away. But then Sam smiles at him like he didn’t mind the plaintive part, and Jason doesn’t know what he’s doing either.

 

Reigate is quiet as they drive through, it’s past pub closing time and there are only a few stragglers still making their way home. He turns up the hill and signals into his drive, and Sam unclips his seatbelt in readiness. His porch lights come on to guide them in, and he tells Sam to drop his kitbag by the door. 

Despite the late hour, Sam accepts another drink, and curls up at one end of Jason’s couch, his feet tucked beneath him. Jason takes the other end and puts some music on, to fill the silence. “I know we’ve been weird,” he says eventually, and sighs, rubbing a hand over his head. “I don’t know why, but it’s just like, ever since the Champions Trophy, you and me have been off, and -- you can date whoever you want, I swear I support that and want you to do what makes you happy, but --” He stops, and sighs again, frustrated.

Sam just watches him, and then, when Jason stays silent, he prompts him, “But?”

“But, it’s just like, our friendship’s off, and you don’t want us to sleep together, and you find someone else to hang out with and fuck.”

Sam’s voice is gentle. “But that doesn’t have to affect us, Jase,” he says. “Our friendship is never going to change because I start dating.”

“It just felt like things were good, it was all going good, and then you suddenly pulled the plug.”

“But I didn’t?” Sam leans forward, “The series ended, why would we keep doing that when we weren’t on tour anymore?”

“But we live near each other? Like I don’t get why being on tour makes a difference?”

Sam starts speaking and then stops. He looks at Jason for long enough that the silence gets uncomfortable, and Jason’s about to break it when Sam says, “Jase. You have to get what you’re asking?”

Jason frowns, and then he does get it, and he feels his face go hot, “Oh right,” he says quickly, “This is about me secretly wanting a boyfriend.”

“Well!” Sam exclaims, throwing one hand out. “You want us to keep sleeping together, being best mates, you’re jealous of anyone else I --”

“I just don’t want things to change,” Jason says, “I’m just pissed off you pushed me out for someone else, without even asking my opinion, why does it have to be more complicated than that?”

“I didn’t push you out, Jason.”

Jason stares at him, lips pressed together, angry and embarrassed and disbelieving.

“I didn’t,” Sam stresses. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “Arguing again.”

“I’m here,” Sam says again, and his gaze softens into something less frustrated, a trace of embarrassment himself. Suddenly Jason’s stomach unknots, and his shoulders relax. 

“Oh,” he says. 

 

Jason wakes up slowly, at first warm and content in his soft sheets, then, with consciousness gradually returning, he becomes aware of the dull pain at his temples, and the quiet alarm going off beside him. He reaches an arm from underneath the covers and grabs the phone, tilting the screen and squinting till he can see to tap it off. He drinks from the water bottle on the bedside table while he’s at it, gulping it down till he feels more human, and then he turns to see the boy in bed with him. Sam is lying on his side, facing away from Jason. His shoulders are rounded, his body curled inwards, and as Jason watches he stirs, and turns his face deeper into the pillow, breathing in.

On an impulse, Jason shuffles back under the covers, even though the room is warm and airless, and tucks up into Sam’s space. He curls a hand around Sam’s shoulder and kisses the skin there, where freckles scatter across Sam’s back, and a faint line marks the position of his training singlets.

Sam makes a happy noise into the pillow, and Jason does it again. He moves his hand from Sam’s shoulder to around his waist, where Sam takes it in his own and links their fingers. Jason’s thighs push up against Sam’s, and he moves their hands down Sam’s body together, his lips curving into a smile against his shoulder.

They get sweaty and sticky and push the covers to the floor, and afterwards Jason leans across Sam, balancing precariously at the edge of the bed, to push a window open. 

Sam lies beneath him, smiling wide, a little pink still across his neck and chest. Jason leans down to kiss him. “You’re gross,” he says.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” Jason says automatically, his eyes dragging down Sam’s body, unable to keep a self-satisfied smile from his face. “You wake up naked in my bed, what else do you expect?”

“Weirdly creepy,” Sam says, against another kiss, and laughs. 

“I’m going to shower,” Jason says. He kisses Sam again.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Go on.”

 

Jason persuades Sam that it’s his turn to buy, and they go out for breakfast together at a coffee shop in town. Sam’s smiling all through the meal, which makes Jason smile too. He puts it all down to sleep deprivation. “Always stay up too late after matches,” he says, yawning. Sam pushes the last pancake across to him. “Eat this,” he says, “I’m full.”

Back at Jason’s Sam shows no signs of leaving, so Jason sprawls on the couch and tells him he’ll have a coffee, white, cheers mate. The french windows are wide open to the patio, a light breeze coming in with the sunshine. He puts Wimbledon on, and the muted calls of the umpire mingle with the sound of a lawnmower a few doors down.

They watch the ladies’ final, placing bets on the result, which Sam wins though they’re both wildly off with their predictions. Sam leaves the men’s doubles on while Jason takes a nap, his feet kicked up in Sam’s lap. He wakes up with a start, late afternoon sunlight falling across his face, and makes a noise of disgust.

Sam is texting, and the game is still going on. “What’s happening?” Jason says, squinting. He lifts an arm to block out the light and Sam laughs at him. “Alright, sleeping beauty?”

“I’m hungry,” Sam says. It’s only five, but they skipped lunch. Jason bounces his heel on Sam’s thigh. “Order in,” he says, “I can’t be bothered to cook.” 

Sam grabs his foot and holds it still. Jason moves the other one but Sam grabs that too. “Can we get thai?” he says, and Jason rolls his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “Like we always do.”

“I like thai,” Sam protests, and Jason tries to jerk his feet out of Sam’s grip. “I know you do.”

“You’re buying,” Jason says, and Sam yelps in protest. “I bought breakfast!” he says. 

“It’s your day to pay for everything,” Jason says, trying to hide his grin. “That’s how it works.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Sam says. “You didn’t even make the coffees.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.”

“I feel like this is all one way,” Sam says, grinning, one hand moving to Jason’s calf and squeezing it. “Like you’re all take and no give.”

Jason waggles his eyebrows at Sam. “I was all give and no take last night,” he says, “You weren’t complaining then.”

“I’m not sure you were all give,” Sam says, his eyes twinkling. “I’m pretty sure I remember some take, there.” 

Jason joggles his leg, and then when Sam doesn’t take his hand away, he sits up and grabs it, holding it off. “Are you feeling better?” Sam asks, looking amused with something. Jason frowns. “Than last night,” Sam adds, but Jason still looks confused. “Do you feel better now that I’ve paid you attention for a whole day?” Sam clarifies, and Jason rolls his eyes. Sam’s grinning, and when Jason pushes his hand away in disgust, he starts giggling. “Come on,” he says, reaching towards Jason, climbing over him as he tries to get away. “Can you say it? _I’m not sulking anymore because I know I’m still your favourite_?”

Jason turns his face and holds Sam off with his arms. “You’re not even close,” he says, kicking at him. Sam tuts at him and they tussle, but it’s aborted quickly when Jason almost falls off the couch. Sam tugs him in, and smiles over him. 

“I don’t like you,” Jason says, but it doesn’t mean much when he lets Sam pull him into a kiss, the sun still warm against their cheeks.

 

“I need to go after this,” Sam says, takeaway containers laid out on Jason’s dining room table, both of them piling their plates high. They kissed until Sam got too hungry, and then they took a break to order, but they didn’t leave the couch still until the doorbell rang, forty minutes later.

Jason stops, spoon held over a pot of rice. “What, why?”

“Um.” Sam takes chopsticks and then looks around the table, checking against what’s on his plate. “Because I don’t live here?”

“Go back tomorrow,” Jason says. “Have a drink, relax here.”

Sam makes a face, considering, but he still shakes his head. “I have training in the morning,” he says. “I’d have to leave really early, drive back in morning traffic, go to my house to get stuff, and then get to training, it’s a hassle.”

“You’d stay if I was Adam,” Jason says, and instantly regrets it. Sam looks like he does too, on Jason’s behalf. He stills, and then puts his plate down. 

“Sam,” Jason starts, and Sam opens a beer and ignores him. “Sorry, I--”

He watches as Sam takes the bottle and his plate through to the living room. Jason abandons his own plate and follows him. He stands in the doorway but Sam doesn’t look up. “Sorry,” he says, again. 

Sam puts his hands on his knees and stares down at the coffee table. “Just,” he says, “Just stop.” He looks up at Jason. “Stop it.”

“I’m just teasing,” Jason says, lamely. “Don’t take it--”

“No you’re not,” Sam says, cutting him off. “You’re being annoying. I know when you’re being annoying, and this is you being annoying. Stop it.” He sighs, and picks up his plate, holding it in his lap. “I’m trying here, Jase. I know you felt ditched and I’m trying to fix that, so just stop being a twat about it.”

Jason folds his arms around himself, watching Sam glance up at him and then start picking at his food. He sets his shoulders and looks out through the windows into the garden, glowing with the late evening sun. “I said sorry,” he says, and then. “I just wanted you to stay longer.”

Sam looks up at that, considering Jason. “You’re a tit,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to punch Jason as much. Jason tells him to fuck off, in a friendly way, and goes back to loading his plate.

 

“I’ll drive you,” Jason says, when Sam sees the cost of a taxi. 

Sam laughs. “Mate,” he says, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obviously fine.”

Jason shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I like driving.”

“It’s an hour there and an hour back,” Sam says, like Jason’s mad, but a little bit like he’s thinking about it, too.

“It relaxes me.” Jason puts his plate and beer on the coffee table. “And I’ve not even finished this beer.”

Sam wavers, and Jason talks down the effort further and further until by his reckoning he’s practically just walking Sam out to the car, and finally Sam concedes. The knot in Jason’s stomach goes away, and he relaxes back, picking up his beer again without thinking.

“Hey!” Sam says, and he reaches forward to take it off him. “I’ll finish this for you.”

The roads are quiet after the evening rush hour and the M25 is clear all the way to Junction 5. The sun is recently set and the sky is streaked with purple and pink, fading rapidly. By the time they’re into the Kent countryside it is a deep, dark blue and a few stars have appeared on the horizon, just above the intermittent motorway lights. Sam chooses the music and they don’t talk much, watching the towns blend into fields and back again, Sam on his phone and singing along, making Jason smile to himself.

They reach Sam’s before they know it, turning down dark country roads until the driveway appears on the right. Jason pulls up beside his car, and the porch light comes on. When he turns the engine off, the music stops too, and the silence is sudden and startling. Jason can hear Sam breathing, and an owl calling nearby. “Here we are,” he says, redundantly, but it seems to break the spell. 

“Here we are,” Sam agrees, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thanks again.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, to Sam’s back as he climbs out of the car. Jason opens the boot from his dashboard and follows Sam around to unload his bags. He trails Sam to the door, feet crunching up the gravel drive, and when Sam turns around Jason is closer than he meant to be. The kitbag drops to the ground with a thump. 

“You going to be okay, driving back? You can always stay.”

Jason gives him a flat look. “You’re not the only one who has training,” he says, and Sam laughs. “See?” he says, “Not so appealing when you aren’t in your own house.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says.

Sam smiles. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing.” 

They both seem to sway closer, though Jason couldn’t say who moved, but when he switches his phone from one hand to the other, his knuckles brush the front of Sam’s t-shirt. Sam’s gaze flits across Jason’s face and Jason’s heartbeat feels fast and flighty, like he’s light-headed. “We’ll be here all night--” he says, but Sam shushes him. His toes nudge Jason’s, and that time it was definitely Sam moving. His hands are gentle on Jason’s hips, and Jason closes his eyes when Sam kisses him.

It’s nothing, it’s just Sam kissing him. They kissed earlier, on Jason’s couch, and before that, in his bed, and before, still, in hotel rooms that Jason would need two hands to count. He puts his arms around Sam and kisses him back.

Sam smiles into the kiss, just as Jason’s lost track of it. “Okay,” he says. “That was nice. But you should go.”

“I should,” Jason agrees. “Alright.” Sam’s smile makes him want to kiss the corners of it. He steps back, and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’ll see you soon?” He stops, one foot off the porch step. 

“For sure,” Sam says, hefting his bag up over his shoulder again. Jason hesitates. “Go,” Sam insists, laughing, and Jason says, “Alright, alright, calm down,” but he pushes up on one foot and kisses Sam, brief and confusing, before he goes. 

He says a goodbye over his shoulder and makes it to the car, but it takes him a second to steady his hands before he can put it in gear. Sam waves from the open door as Jason reverses down the driveway, then he turns into the road and he’s gone.

The drive home feels longer; the motorway lights glare and Jason feels the tiredness kick in. He winds the windows down and puts the radio on, focusing on late night talksport and tail lights trailing into blackness ahead. 

Pulling up to his own house he glances at his phone screen and sees messages from Sam, but he waits till he’s inside, shoes kicked off by the door, dragging himself upstairs, to read them.

_Thanks for a good day_ it says, sent one hour ago. And,

_I wanted you to stay_

_I know you don’t want to hear this_

_But this is what dating men looks like_

 

Jason’s heart races all night, and he wakes up exhausted. An early gym session helps, clearing his head, but the time spent with his teammates afterwards doesn’t. He can’t look at his phone, afraid to see what else might be there. He goes with them to Rory’s, lies on the couch all afternoon watching Federer’s reign continue, debates with the boys about the greatest ever sportsman, and leaves when the conversation morphs into the fittest sportswomen. 

His house is just as they left it the day before: leftover takeaway in tinfoil tubs in the fridge, Sam’s abandoned glass of water on the coffee table, the indent of his head on the pillows on Jason’s bed. Jason pounds them into newness and makes a token effort to tidy. It’s a Monday tomorrow anyway; his housekeeper will be around.

As the light fades outside Jason channel hops until he settles on Poldark and then, unthinkingly, picks up his phone to text Sam, a running joke they had about it. He remembers as soon as he unlocks it, his heart pounding again, and he doesn’t have to open the conversation to recall what it says.

Sam’s wrong, he thinks. Sam wants it to be that, or he thinks Jason is in denial, but either way, it isn’t what dating men looks like. He isn’t as naive as Sam thinks he is, nor as slow on the uptake. He puts the phone down again, but the queasiness in his stomach doesn’t go away all night.

The days go by, and Jason stops thinking about it eventually. He starts thinking that he should reply, but then it feels like too much time has passed, and then in the end Sam texts him first, a photo from the farm, and Jason replies with a photo of Rory, and things go back to normal. He only wakes up sometimes at three in the morning, with a feeling of unease.

 

Sam drives over one day in late July; it is warm and the country is covered by low grey cloud, announcing rain at some point. He idles in Jason’s driveway as Jason locks up, sees a window open upstairs, shrugs and leaves it. Sam’s laughing when he slides into the passenger seat, but Jason can’t hear what he’s saying over the music blaring. “Turn this down,” he says, reaching for the volume control. And then, “What,” staring at Sam’s salmon pink shorts. “Are those.” 

They play a round of golf at Jason’s local course, the threat of rain never making good, then retire to a country pub. Jason takes Sam’s money to the bar, gleeful, and Sam films him from the battered leather settees by the window. He holds up the money to the camera and makes a face to make Sam laugh. 

They watch the patrons come and go while they wait for their food. Indie hits from the late nineties play in the background. Jason shakes his head in disgust at Sam’s outfit, for the hundredth time that day, and Sam laughs again, protesting loudly over the babble of conversation around them. 

“So,” Sam says, after they’ve worked their way through two steaks, lying back against the cushions with a sigh. 

“So,” Jason echoes. It doesn’t feel like a meaningless word, all of a sudden; Sam looks like he’s gearing himself up for something.

“Are we okay?” Sam says, and then, before Jason can think to reply, “After the other week. You know, I sent that text, and. Well I probably shouldn’t have sent it, but the point is, are we good?”

It takes Jason a second to catch up. He ducks his head, gathering his thoughts, and then looks at Sam, trying to smile easily. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, that I didn’t reply. I didn’t--”

“No it’s--” They both stop, and then Sam shakes his head. “Sorry, you go.”

“No,” Jason says, “I don’t know what else I was going to say.”

There’s a pause, and then Sam says, “Oh,” and Jason feels it in the pit of his stomach. “No,” Sam says, “Like I said, I shouldn’t have sent it. It was late, I just.”

He trails off, and Jason tries to finish for him. “It’s okay,” he says. “I know I acted a bit weird that night.”

Sam frowns. “Weird how?” 

Jason shrugs. The song playing sounds familiar, and his mind goes off on a tangent, trying to place it. “Just,” he says, “You know, like being stupid about Milne and everything. I just didn’t know how serious it was with you two.”

“Just being jealous?” Sam says, with a slight smile. “It’s okay, forget it.”

“I’ll be glad when he’s gone,” Jason says, returning the smile, trying to lighten the mood. “And we can get back to our business.”

Sam’s face closes off as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and Jason’s wishing them back. “Jase,” he starts, and then he looks around them. “Let’s get out of here.”

In the car Jason turns to him and says, “I didn’t mean--” but Sam cuts him off. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he says. “For you and me to -- get back to our business.”

“I didn’t,” Jason starts, lamely, but doesn’t follow up. He looks straight ahead, out of the windscreen, where flecks of rain are finally appearing. 

“We’re not serious,” Sam says, “Me and Adam. It’s just a fun thing, but it has reminded me that I like dating, and I like being in a relationship, even if it’s just a pretend one that’s going to end in a few weeks.”

Jason sees Sam looking at him, out of the corner of his eye, but he just looks down at his lap. “I didn’t know it was like that,” he says. “Like a relationship.”

“Well. It’s like dating someone. Although--” Sam laughs, and Jason looks at him. His cheeks are pink, as he says, “It’s kind of like dating someone with you, too, but we definitely aren’t dating.”

Jason feels his own cheeks heat up. “So what’s your point,” he says. “Do we act like we’re dating too much, or too little? You’re contradicting yourself, Bilbo.”

“Too much,” Sam says, frankly, and Jason’s chest constricts. “Too much for me to deal with, anyway.”

“But why?” Jason says, too loudly for the enclosed space. “I’m not stopping you from anything, I mean you’re practically dating Adam, aren’t you?”

“But if we keep it up,” Sam says, his head turned, fully facing Jason, his body twisted slightly in the seat. “I’m not going to want to try and see anyone else, and you’re not going to want to see me.” He’s quiet for a minute, and Jason can’t look at him. “You think that this is all the good stuff and none of the hassle: sex, hanging out, no pressure, no commitment. But that’s not fair, Jase. My normal is dating men. I want the hassle. I want to bring someone home.”

“Not everything has to be one or the other,” Jason says, not even sure what it is he’s saying anymore. “It’s not friendship or relationship, one or the other.”

“It is for me,” Sam says, and when Jason glances up at him, he looks so sad, but Jason doesn’t know who for.

“So that’s it,” he says, looking away. His eyes feel hot. “You’re dropping me.”

“I didn’t want to,” Sam says, and Jason shakes his head. “Oh right,” he says, forcing a laugh. “You didn’t want to. Thanks.” 

Sam pushes a hand back through his hair. He’s quiet for a long time. Jason can feel his gaze, but he fixes his own on the car park, blurring as rain splatters down onto the glass. He’s concentrating on keeping his eyes dry, and not on what he might say next, and it’s a relief when Sam turns away and says, his voice quieter than usual, “We should head back.”

He starts the car and Jason pulls his seatbelt on. The drive back is silent but for the window-wipers’ steady beat. Sam puts no music on and Jason’s head is numb, watching the familiar roads and villages go by, arms folded across his chest. 

Drawn up in front of the house, Sam turns the engine off and sighs. “Jase,” he says. “You know, I’m not doing anything to hurt our friendship. Telling your friend you think you should stop sleeping together because you're worried about getting hurt shouldn't be a reason to be made to feel like a bad friend.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason says, and his voice sounds small. “You’re changing what we are, for no good reason.”

“It’s not no reason,” Sam says, with a sigh. “It’s because I want something more and you don’t. Because I was happy being friends, but things have changed. I don’t want it to change either, but I know at some point I’m going to overstep some line you’ve drawn, and you’re going to flip, and it'll change anyway and I’ll be the one feeling like I fucked up.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say, when he already feels like they’re past all the lines he drew. “I’m sorry,” Sam says. “I know you’re upset, but it’s upsetting me too.”

“I’m not that bad,” Jason mumbles, without much conviction, and when he looks at Sam, Sam just shrugs. He looks tired, and fed up, and Jason has nothing else to say. “I guess you aren’t staying,” he says, and wonders how they got here, when only an hour ago everything had been fine. 

“No,” Sam says, and he has one hand on the wheel already. 

“I need to get my stuff out of the boot,” Jason says. “I’ll see you -- at the next match?” It’s weeks away.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. Jason waits, but Sam doesn’t look up, and so he goes.

 

At first he feels like shit, guilt sitting like a weight in his stomach. He’s got no appetite and he snaps at his team in the next match. They’re all on edge as the rainclouds sit over the country and show no signs of moving, and the hours drag on inside the changing room. Jason slumps in his chair, collar turned up against the damp chill, arms wrapped around his sweater, and visits Sam’s instagram for the tenth time that day. 

Then he feels like crying; on top of the weight in his stomach there’s a lump in his throat, and an ache in his head. He considers if he’s coming down with something, but he keeps checking Sam’s instagram and can’t pretend it’s anything else. He just misses him. 

He misses him, and Adam Milne is in his house, lying on his sofa, feet up on the cushions like he owns the place. That’s Jason’s place, he thinks, that should be him. He goes into daydreams about it, about being in his best mate’s house and hanging out with him. He daydreams them on that couch together, Sam smiling at him in a way he hasn’t since the night Jason drove him home.

Sam goes for coffee with Adam, and Jason goes to Nandos alone. He posts about it and Sam doesn’t reply. He’s being moody, he knows. The boys call him out on it to each other, like he isn’t right there, then they leave him alone. They know better; they know to leave him until he comes out of it. Except Jade, who texts Jason when they’re all back in Surrey, _Come shopping with me tomorrow._

Jason considers ignoring it, but he can’t take any more guilt on board. _What for?_

Jade’s reply comes quick. _What for? For turning your frown upside down buddy xx_. Jason snorts.

They go to the King’s Road, because Jade likes the finer things in life even though he pretends to be a Woking boy. After a few shops and a lighter wallet he feels more like himself, but his stomach still drops every time he looks at his phone. Jade keeps them going for an hour and a half and then steers Jason into a strategically placed pub, ignoring his feeble protests.

“Burgers and beers,” Jade says, “And telling your big bro what’s wrong.”

Jason accepts the first two, but waits until he’s through his burger before he submits to Jade’s concerned looks. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Just standard love life drama.”

Jade looks surprised as he asks if Jason was seeing someone, and Jason shakes his head, sitting hunched up in his chair. “I wasn’t really,” he says. “It was complicated.” He pushes bits of his bun around the plate, and picks up a cold chip, and then he says, quietly, “It was a guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Jade’s eyebrows are raised, but he doesn’t look too shocked, and Jason feels his shoulders drop away from his ears, relaxing. “Romantic drama and a guy. That’s an unusual combo for you.”

“You’re telling me,” Jason says, and laughs out some of his relief. “Unusual, or totally new.”

“So what happened?”

“Ugh.” Jason rubs his face. “I don’t know. We were sleeping together, and now I’m confused.”

“You--” Jade quirks up the corner of his mouth. “Okay, but sleeping with a man, that’s not new, right?”

“No, the sex part isn’t,” Jason says, and then trails off. 

“But the feelings?” Jade’s mouth widens into a full grin, and Jason rolls his eyes at him, but can’t help laughing at himself. 

“Yeah,” he says. “The feelings.”

There’s a pause while Jason drinks, and Jade pokes around in the chips to find the ones that are still warm enough to eat, and then Jade says, “So, the feelings. Are they reciprocated?”

Jason feels himself going red, and wills it away. “I don’t know if I’d really class it as feelings,” he says. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” Jade agrees, watching Jason worry at the label of his bottle. “I can imagine.”

“He’s seeing someone else,” Jason says, and Jade says, “Oh.”

“And we had a fight about it, and now I miss him,” Jason finishes, lamely, feeling foolish.

“Did you have a fight about it because you want to be the one he’s seeing?”

Jason peels half the label off, carefully, rubbing away the sticky residue with his thumb, not really thinking about the question so much as putting off the answer. “I don’t know,” he says eventually, when they’ve sat in silence for too long and their plates have been cleared. “I don’t date men, Jade. I’ve never wanted to, I can’t picture doing all that. I just miss him.”

“But you had a fight about him seeing someone else,” Jade reminds him, and Jason frowns. “Look,” Jade says, “If you really don’t think you feel that way about him, maybe it’s just getting confused between sex and friendship.” Jason looks at him, hopefully. “But I think it can also be quite easy,” Jade continues, cautiously, “To think that, the first time you have feelings for someone of the same sex, to think you’re just confused.”

“Wise words, from a straight guy,” Jason says, and Jade gives a wry smile. “Yeah,” he says. “Well.” He calls for a break to go for a piss and then to the bar, and when he returns he says, “So, anyone I know?”

Jason doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, eventually. Jade smiles. “Yeah? Not a Kent boy by any chance?”

Jason raises his eyebrows and stops a nervous smile. “That obvious eh?”

“An educated guess.” Jade’s grinning at him when Jason looks up, and he tilts his beer towards Jason’s, touching the necks together. “A solid choice, my boy.”

Jason ends up telling him the whole story, in low tones under the babble of the busy pub: how things began to feel different at the start of the summer, how they’ve been spending more time just the two of them, and texting more, and the things Sam said when Jason drove him home. Jade listens, nodding solemnly, and lets him get it all out.

“And he was right,” Jason says. “I will panic, if we try anything like that. I’ll change my mind and then I’ll hurt him. And that’s the last thing I want to do, you know? He’s Sam.”

Jade nods, like he gets that; it’s Sam. It’s Jason, and it’s Sam. “That’s fair,” he says, seriously. “But, you know, it’s within your gift not to hurt him.” 

Jason shrugs. He thinks his track record hasn’t been wild, and he tells Jade this. 

“Why don’t you tell him? That you’re confused about the conversations you’ve been having, and you want to clear the air. And then tell him that you’re not sure if this is for you but you know you like him. Just see what he says. It sounds like you haven’t really told him that yet.”

Jason bites his lip, turning his bottle in his hands. “On the other hand,” Jade says. “If Sam’s seeing this other guy and he’s happy, you could just decide to leave it.”

Jason feels it deep in his stomach when Jade says that, and every part of his body tells him not to do that. But, “It’s scary,” he says. “It’s my -- second best mate. I can’t fuck it up.”

“Just keep telling yourself you can’t fuck it up,” Jade says, “And you won’t.” He reaches across the table, hand outstretched to Jason’s hair. Jason ducks away from it but Jade’s arms are too long to escape. He smooths it back into place as Jade says, “Am I your best mate?”

Jason shrugs. “Obviously,” he says. Jade grins and holds out his fist for Jason to bump. “Nice,” he says. “Mate, listen, just text him. Go from there.”

 

Jason goes home and spends the whole evening thinking about texting Sam. He types out messages and deletes them again; they’re too serious, or not serious enough, or needy or sarcastic or a thousand other excuses. He goes to Rory’s for dinner and sulks on his couch until Rory kicks him out. 

He thinks about what it would mean, if they got together: the teasing from the lads would never stop, they’d have to decide who to come out to, they’d have to decide who not to come out to. Jason would have to tell his family about the men, finally. He doesn’t know when he’d feel okay walking down the street with Sam’s hand in his own. He’s never been ashamed of sleeping with men, but he’s starting to think that wasn’t the whole story. Sam doesn’t have this problem, he thinks. Sam’s already made his choice.

They play Sussex, and Jason finally makes a fifty, smashing sixes around the Oval for fun with Aaron. They have a few beers in the changing room afterwards and then head home. Jason’s keyed up; he grabs himself another beer and slumps on the sofa, scrolling through Netflix for something to watch for twenty minutes before he decides it’s a lost cause and picks up his phone instead. 

_Tried my best but couldn’t match you_ , he says to Sam. He checks twitter instead of continuing the search for entertainment, and waits for a response. It doesn’t take long.

_Fifty boi_ , Sam sends, with the high five emoji hands and a few happy faces. _Knew you’d find it_.

_Knew you’d find it too_ , Jason replies, and feels a bit better. They haven’t spoken since Sam left that day and he’d honestly not been sure if Sam would reply, but there it is. Waters are smoothed over again, and Jason could do what Jade said now. He could let it go, let Sam enjoy himself with Adam, let him date him or whatever Sam wants to do, let him meet new people and get with them and, inevitably, find someone new. 

It’s a choice of problems, he thinks. Does he want the problems of coming out, of being new to something, of learning not to care what people say, or does he want the problem of seeing Sam with someone else and knowing it could have been him. Neither sounds particularly appealing, until he considers that the first lot are with Sam and the second is without. 

Sam always looks after him, after all. He drains his glass, picks up his phone and says, _Missed you_.

Sam’s reply takes longer this time. Jason lies down on the couch, his feet hanging off the end, his head pillowed on one arm with the other on his chest, his heart hammering beneath his fingers. His phone sits in his hand, waiting. 

When it buzzes it makes him jump. _Celebratory beers? :)_ it says, and Jason deflates. _Yeah_ , he writes, typing with his phone held above him. _How did you know?_

_Haha_ , Sam replies, as Jason’s shifting himself up into a sitting position. _You only send me stuff like that when you’ve had a few._

_I’m trying to say sorry,_ Jason sends, and Sam says, _I’d just really like it sober x_

Jason’s slumped against the cushions, thinking about calling Sam, when another message comes through. _I’m free tomorrow, if you’re about._ He sits up straight, focusing on the screen. He’s going to do it right, he thinks, even as he types out a reply, telling Sam he wants to do this now, because he can’t say this stuff sober, he doesn’t know how. He deletes it all, and tries again. _Yeah - call you in the morning?_

He gets a smiley face in reply, and drops the phone in his lap. His hands shake slightly as he puts them to his face and breathes out a long slow breath. Just tell Sam he’s confused, he thinks, remembering Jade’s words. Just start from there.

 

He waits till three o’clock the next day before he shames himself into courage, and texts Sam to ask if he can drive over. Sam’s reply comes quickly and Jason tells him he’ll leave in fifteen so as not to seem too eager, then he sits in the car and waits it out. He thinks about texting Jade, but the fear of failure is too high.

Sam calls him as he’s making his way round the M25, stuck at a 50mph speed limit going eastbound. He’s got his music on shuffle and Kanye’s in the middle of _I don’t know if you got a man or not, if you made plans or not_ when the call cuts in, and the irony isn’t lost on Jason. He picks up and Sam’s loud cheerful voice fills the car instead. “Where are you?” he says, and Jason tells him, quoting the last exit he saw. “Come to the farm instead,” Sam says, adding, nonsensically, “I’m here.”

Jason agrees and Sam reminds him of the different directions before he hangs up, and Kanye comes back in. Jason signals into the fast lane, glancing over his shoulder, and puts his foot down.

It’s been a while since he was here, at the family farm, and Jason’s forgotten briefly where to go before he hears dogs barking and Sam calling to him. He looks around to see Sam walking round the corner of the farmhouse, jeans and a hoodie and a smile on his face. “Hey buddy,” he says, and Jason receives him into a hug. “I thought we could go for a walk,” he says, gesturing to the dogs, and Jason tries to hide his relief as he stoops to give them attention. 

They switch cars, though Jason protests he doesn’t mind the dogs in the back of his merc, and Sam drives them into the downs. “Do you have a jacket?” he says, standing by the landrover with the dogs scrambling to get out. “The wind can pick up here.”

Jason turns down the offer of a fleece that Sam finds in the back of the car and takes one of the leads. The sun’s shining and the sky is clear, and the dogs are straining on their leashes. Sam grins at Jason and he feels something tighten in his chest.

They don’t talk much as they’re walking, following chalky paths along the hillside, and Sam points out Canterbury cathedral in the distance. Jason recounts the match the night before, and Sam fills him in on his day with the family, but mostly they tramp along in silence, letting the dogs run ahead and stand waiting, tongues lolling, impatient. 

At a rocky outcrop Sam pauses beside a bench that’s been put there for the view, and the dogs drop down as if they recognise the stopping point. Jason gestures towards it and suggests they sit, though he isn’t tired. 

Legs outstretched before them, they take in the rolling landscape: the hillside as it drops away not far from their feet, the briars and brambles disappearing over the edge; the sloping sides curving down to the plain below, the grasses starting to turn from their summer green to a soft fawn; and then, further still, the patchwork of fields laid out to the horizon, towns and villages distant, the patterns of hedgerows crossing back and forth. There’s no sound except the twittering of birds from somewhere above them and a plane droning overhead, heading inland from the coast.

Jason looks out at the view and gathers every bit of resolve within him, pulling it in from all parts of himself. “So,” he starts, testing out the sound of his voice in the quiet of the landscape. Sam turns to look at him, but he keeps his gaze forward, for now. “So, what I was saying last night. Or, trying to say.”

It’s so hard to find the right words, and he turns a few over in his mind, letting the silence drag out, until Sam leans into him, nudging their shoulders together just slightly, and Jason turns to look at him. It’s just Sam, he thinks, even though his heart is going faster than it should. “I missed you,” he blurts out. “And it’s been shit, not talking to you and knowing you’re pissed off with me.”

“I know,” Sam says, wrinkling his forehead. “It’s been crap being pissed off with you too, for the record.” He smiles, slightly, at himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jason says, and a weight lifts off his chest. “I’ve been shit. I’ve just been confused and I’ve been taking it out on you.”

Sam ducks his head, looking at his lap, and then up at the view, squinting slightly against the sun. Then he looks back at Jason, and he’s not smiling but he’s not upset either. “What have you been confused about?”

Jason shrugs. “Everything,” he says. “Us.” He waits, but Sam waits too, so he tries to carry on. “I really have never wanted to date men, I haven’t just been saying that or been in denial.”

“I know,” Sam says. “I believe you.”

“But,” Jason says, and the weight presses back on his chest like it’s going to overwhelm him. Sam shifts on the bench, and his arm comes to rest next to Jason’s. His hoodie is warm and soft against Jason’s skin, and instinctively he moves his arm towards it, towards Sam, chasing the comfort of his touch. The backs of their hands fall together and then, without talking about it, Sam turns his palm slightly and Jason takes it, fitting their hands together. He takes a breath, and then, finding that he still can, takes another. 

“But?” Sam asks. They are both looking at their hands. 

“But I’ve been really jealous,” Jason says. “And it isn’t just jealous because you’re sleeping with someone else and my ego’s hurt, or jealous because you’re my mate but you want to spend time with someone else.

“I want to do the things you’re doing with Adam,” he says. “But, Sam --” he takes a firmer grip of Sam’s hand. “I don’t know how to date guys, or if I even really want to. And I really don’t want to hurt you, or ruin our friendship.”

Sam’s quiet for a while, sitting still, his thumb moving softly back and forth over Jason’s. Jason feels the strange release of pressure that he remembers from school, walking out of exams or handing in coursework. Like you’ve done it now, and good or bad, the rest is out of your control. Under the bench, one of the dogs gives a sigh and thumps his tail, and Jason thinks, you and me both mate.

Then Sam says, “That’s fair, Jase. I know you’ve never done this, and I know new stuff is terrifying. And I agree, I don’t want to do anything to damage our friendship. You know, I just hated that every time I brought it up you made it sound like I was just inventing it for the hell of it.”

“I know,” Jason says quickly. “I know, I was just hoping it would all go back to normal.”

Sam lifts his head and looks at him, and Jason meets his gaze. “Are you still hoping that?” he asks. Jason swallows. “A little bit,” he says. “But rationally I know it isn’t going to unless we talk about it.”

Sam looks away. “Oh,” he says. And, “So -- okay, God you are the most confusing person to talk to sometimes Jase.” He laughs, but not like it’s really funny. 

Jason keeps a hold of Sam’s hand, in case he’s thinking of moving away. “This isn’t easy,” he says, “I’m sorry I’m rubbish at it.

“You weren’t inventing it,” he says. “Things have been different for a while, and I like how it is.

“And I get that that’s not just mates,” he says, in a rush, as Sam turns to him with a frustrated look. “I get it. I get that you’re saying if I want what it’s been like this summer that means -- it means being more than friends. It’s just a lot.”

Sam sighs. “It’s a lot for me too, you know,” he says. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean the idea of dating one of my best mates isn’t scary.”

“Is that--” Jason clears his throat. “Is that what we’re thinking of doing?” He’s trying to manage his expression, trying to look like this is cool, this isn’t huge, he isn’t completely out of his depth, but Sam takes one look at his face and starts laughing, so he thinks he maybe isn’t successful. “You look like I’ve just told you I’m pregnant,” he says, and Jason lets out a breath, laughing, surprised. “What?” 

“Honestly,” Sam says, and Jason grins. “Strange man,” he says, but it does him good. Sam gathers himself, studying Jason’s face. “I’m not suggesting anything different,” he says. “I’m just saying we call it what it is already, and I stop feeling like I’m reading too much into it, and you stop feeling jealous.”

“So you’d stop sleeping with Adam?” Jason says, hopefully, and Sam rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes, Jason,” he says, “I’d stop sleeping with Adam.”

Jason huffs, at the eye-rolling. “I don’t like him,” he says, and Sam shakes his head. “For all good reasons,” he starts, and then the dogs put their heads up, and one of them stands up, looking towards the path. Sam stops, and turns as well, and Jason takes his hand away. “Hey,” Sam says to the dogs, as they start barking and two cyclists come up the slope. 

Sam gets up, telling them to be quiet and apologising to the cyclists, and soon enough the dogs are trying to make friends, tails going like window-wipers. Sam’s laughing and continuing his apologies, and Jason waits at a distance, his heart still going faster than normal, watching him. 

The new arrivals take the other bench, and Sam takes the dogs’ leads and looks at Jason. His sunglasses are back on and Jason can’t read his expression, but he says, “Want to head back?” and Jason nods.

It’s colder on the way back; they’re walking into the wind and the sun is lower. Jason shoves his hands in his pockets and walks closer to Sam. He doesn’t have the nerve to take his hand again, but Sam does put his arm around his waist, briefly. “Are you cold?” he asks, and, “I told you to bring that fleece!” But Jason denies it. “Do you want to wear my hoodie?” Sam asks, and Jason shakes his head. 

Sam stops, and Jason turns, shoulders hunched up. “Take these,” Sam says, holding out the leashes, and then he pulls his hoodie over his head, emerging with his hair sticking up and his t-shirt ridden up. Jason’s gaze flicks down and then Sam’s pushing the hoodie into his arms and taking the dogs back. “Go on,” he says, over the top of Jason’s protests. “I’m fine, I’m warm.”

He won’t take it back, and Jason has to give in. It’s soft inside and smells like Sam. “Satisfied?” he asks, putting his hands in the pockets with some relief. Sam smiles. He comes in close, reaches up and pulls the hood over Jason’s head, tugging it to make sure it’s going to stay in place. “Yeah,” he says, “Now I am.” 

Jason looks over Sam’s shoulder, and then over his own. The path is empty, stretching away in either direction with just the grass leaning away from the wind for company. When he looks back to Sam he’s smiling. 

“What?” Jason says, to fill the gap between one moment and the next, between him standing in front of Sam, and stepping in to kiss him. Sam is still warm when he puts his arms around him. He kisses him for as long as he dares, and pulls back reluctantly. 

“So what do you think?” Sam says, and Jason puts his hands back into the pockets of Sam’s hoodie. “It’s nice,” he says. “Very warm.” 

Sam reaches up and yanks the hood over his face, and Jason shouts, twisting away from him. He grabs Sam’s hand in the process, and when he rights himself he’s still holding onto it. Sam gives him a look, and Jason shakes his head. “I want this,” he says, and Sam smiles helplessly in front of him. “I just want this, and I might fuck it up --”

“I know,” Sam says. “I might too, that’s a risk, but I don’t think we will.” The sky is blue and the sun is in his eyes. The dogs sit down in hopelessness, and Sam keeps looking at him with the conviction he needs. This isn’t easy, Jason thinks, and they aren’t there yet; he’s terrified, and out of his depth, but he’s happy. “Ok,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much everything that happens in this fic was inspired by various cricket boys' instagram stories over the course of May-September 2017, so it would be remiss of me not to thank Adam Milne, Steven Finn, Jos Buttler, Alex Hales, Sam Billings, and, of course, Jason Roy, who started 'Billings cam' and, in doing so, this fic.
> 
> Thanks more seriously to my two betas who made me feel much better about this fic and made it generally better.
> 
> I stole the title from a self-help book Jason was reading, the content of which confirmed this characterisation for me completely.


End file.
